


An Evening With a Couple of Shirt-Lifters (The White Room)

by Ballyharnon



Series: Madhouse Lovenest [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballyharnon/pseuds/Ballyharnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus and Sirius are stuck at Grimmauld Place and bored before an Order meeting. Naturally, this results in our heroes earning the titular epithet and coincidentally making Snape uncomfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evening With a Couple of Shirt-Lifters (The White Room)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 31 October 2007 on Livejournal.

The clock in the drawing-room struck eight and Remus set his book aside. The house was quiet and had gone mostly dark around him as he read; outside of the circle of light from the lamp on the side table everything was cloaked in shadow. He stood and stretched, dropped his book onto the empty wingback chair.

The sound of the shower, whistling loud even to human ears in the rusty old pipes behind the chipped lath and plaster walls, had stopped some time ago. Remus stepped into the dark hall and along to the closed door of the big white-appointed bedroom he had selected--their bedroom for the time being, even if the one on the third floor was still Sirius’, nominally.

Sirius stood there in a high-collared shirt and black socks, with those charming short suspenders round his calves, fiddling with an ascot. Remus leaned on the doorjamb and watched him for a while. Grey eyes caught his own in the mirror and Sirius turned towards him, smiling tentatively. “What do you think?” he asked.

Remus smiled crookedly, shut the door and locked it behind himself before he crossed the room to him. They were alone in the house for the time being, an Order meeting hours away and when the visitors got here they might not be so pessimistic and self-flagellating as to seek out either of their company anyway, but still. Remus reached up and undid the ascot so that he could retie it correctly. “You left out the trousers,” he said mildly as his fingers moved against the other man’s throat.

Sirius waved a hand dismissively. “The devil’s in the details.”

Remus gave a final tug at the ascot and then moved his hand up to tug at Sirius’ beard. “You look good,” he said, voice a little harsh. That was all it took to make Sirius grin wickedly and lean in, and then Remus’ fingers were in his untameable hair and they were kissing. His heart swelled to have his schoolboy love in his arms again, smiling and eager, more himself again when they were together than any other time.

“Come ‘ere,” Sirius said with a sly note—as though he’d just had the _best idea_. His fingers were suddenly all wound up in the other man’s shirt and Remus found himself being tugged towards him until they were pressed together. 

“What, here?” Remus said, slipping a knee between his. “Or—” He kissed him softly. “—here?” He smiled and slid his hands up his lover’s bare thighs and hips, pushing his shirt up. He stepped forward so that Sirius had to back up, and then he did it again. He heard Sirius’ breathing speed up, saw a flush spread up his face, and he knew from the look in those grey eyes that he was hardening, didn’t even have to feel the electric throb against his thigh. He took another step and then Sirius was clambering backwards onto the edge of the bed.

Just the slightest touch against his chest and Sirius was lowering himself onto his back, legs open invitingly. He snagged a pillow from the head of the bed because he had a feeling Remus might do something worth watching.

The werewolf was in no hurry, though. He remained standing with his knees against the side of the bed and his long form arced over Sirius. He held Sirius’ calf in the palm of his hand and turned his head sideways to press a kiss to the band of skin between the top of his sock and the suspender. After a moment, he continued his fight with Sirius’ shirt until it was bunched up in his armpits and he could run his hands all up and down his tattooed chest and belly.

“I could just take it off,” Sirius suggested as sensibly as he could, considering the long hands all over him.

“Only I’d have to do up your ascot again,” Remus said, a little breathless, with his palms rubbing little circles. He bent to kiss the middle of the other man’s chest. It looked like just another of his runic sigils, but the two of them knew its meaning--it was one of the oldest of his tattoos. Sirius sighed and stared at him as he moved down, petting his skin all the way, stopping to stroke some of the marks with his lips pursed charmingly in his absorption. Remus’ eyes dropped to Sirius’ swollen length, he licked his lips—

Suddenly Remus straightened up and half turned away—though he kept his eyes on Sirius. He loosened his tie with a casual air and undid a button. When he saw the way the other man’s eyes were locked on his mouth, though, Remus couldn’t keep himself away, and he moved quickly to sit on his haunches at the side of the bed.

Sirius drew in a long breath as Remus bent to his task, softly lapping tongue and just the slightest hint of nipping teeth. He set an affectionate foot on the werewolf’s shoulder and took deep breaths to pace himself. He had always been quick to come when that mouth was on him, and Remus was making a rumbly noise deep in his throat and pressing a knuckle almost cruelly into the skin behind his balls. Sirius felt long fingers twine around the base of him, slick with spit and squeezing rhythmically as Remus’ tongue slithered circles around the tip. He sucked in a breath and slid the fingers of one hand through the other man’s hair as he felt himself tense up. “Remus,” he muttered, and the werewolf looked up at him, held his eyes as he sucked. “Don’t stop—“

Remus hummed in agreement, and the vibration from the sound was enough to pull Sirius up off the bed as though he were on wires and make him swell up that last little bit. At that, Remus laughed through his nose, and then Sirius was coming hard with a long groan.

Remus pulled away carefully, mouth full, before his panting lover started to go soft. He straightened up and spat into his palm, tipped his hand forward so that the fluid ran down his first two fingers.

“Ohh,” Sirius said as the slickness of his own seed and Moony’s spit dribbled against him. “Ngh,” he added.

Remus laughed again, softly, with the tip of one finger just barely penetrating. “I was about to say the same thing,” he commented of the sight before him. Sirius was totally relaxed, every muscle slack beneath him, his cock half-hard and unsure which way to go, his hair snaking in wild tendrils over the white pillow. Grey eyes watching his every move. He twisted his finger deeper.

“You gonna get your kit off?” Sirius said suddenly. “Or are you just going to stand there like that and look at me?” He sounded drunk. To be fair, he had had a whiskey before his evening shower, but Remus knew he always slurred charmingly during sex.

“I did try,” Remus told him. He took his time about it, one had resting on the inside of Sirius’ thigh while the other worked him open. He was aching, uncomfortable in his trousers, and too hot, but he wanted Sirius hard again, and they weren’t twenty anymore. As if the other man was reading his mind, a foot settled on his flies. He leaned into the pressure.

Sirius was shaking and twisting under his hands, more than ready, and twitching up to fully hard again. Finally Remus retrieved his hand and Sirius whined incoherently at the sudden emptiness. Staring contemplatively down at his lover, Remus undid his belt and his flies, let his trousers drop so that he was half-bound at the knees, and tugged his shirttails up out of the way. He slid his still-sticky palm around his cock, then spat into his hand again and did it again.

“Come _on_ , you silly sod.” Sirius yelped. “What, you find someplace better to put that?”

“No such thing,” Remus ground out through gritted teeth. He hooked an arm under the small of the other man’s back and heaved him up a little. He steadied himself with his free hand and pushed against that tight hole. Sirius, huffing little barking breaths, bore down and shifted his weight and then Remus was buried to the hilt with his head thrown back. Sirius was almost painfully tight around him—they both stayed still and panted for a long moment. Sirius gripped his waist.

Remus jostled him, to get a better grip and lift him up to the right angle, but he loved the noises the other man made at the movement, so he did it again. He drew almost all the way out before he started to thrust in earnest and Sirius got his legs out of the way properly, straight up in the air. He dropped his forehead onto his lover’s chest as he moved slow and steady and a little rough—just right, apparently, because Sirius’ ribs were vibrating with his low moans.

Remus shoved him further onto the bed with one knee and climbed up after him, got tangled in his trousers and had to kick off one shoe to free himself, all without pulling out. He wrapped his wet hand around Sirius’ prick and stroked the tip with his thumb—it was like touching himself, only still a thousand times hotter, even with twenty years between them and their first time. Bare legs wound round his waist. Sirius somehow pushed up against him with every thrust despite that he could have no leverage.

Sirius’ fingers, wound in his short hair, suddenly tugged, pulled his head sideways. A charming grin lit his face when Remus jerked away from his grip and then tangled his own free hand in the unruly hair at the back of Sirius’ head. He pulled hard so that Sirius was forced to tilt his head back, but he realised that his collar and ascot were still done up and he couldn’t bite or lap at anything interesting without pausing, so he just tugged rhythmically at his hair like it was teeth in the scruff of his neck until it was all too much to bear. He stretched to kiss Sirius as he gave a final deep push and his whole world narrowed to, “Yeh, Remus,” muttered against his lips, “fill me up.”

Though he wanted to collapse in a sticky heap right at that, Remus kept going, kept stroking him and moving his oversensitive flesh inside him until Sirius jerked up off the bed again, laughing and spurting over his hand. Remus couldn’t breathe for the way Sirius was looking at him through slitted eyes and squeezing his poor spent cock. He sagged onto the tattooed chest and neither of them said anything for a long time.

Eventually, Sirius unlocked his legs with a grunt of pain and Remus pulled away so that he could straighten them. He cast _scourgify_ without a word or a wand and collapsed on his side with his face buried in Sirius’ armpit, which was still full of shirt.

“ _Accio_ fags,” Sirius panted.

“Yes,” Remus agreed as the crumpled packet of Benson and Hedges flew from the top of the dresser. “Yes, I want one, too.”

Sirius lit two cigarettes at once against one of the tattoos on his knuckles and Remus, sitting up, took one from between his lips. He kicked his other shoe off and tried to figure out which way was the front of his trousers--they were still wrapped round one of his legs. Sirius leaned over and pressed a long kiss to his temple, callously breathing smoke into his greying hair.

Remus put a hand on the other man’s jaw and shut his eyes, leaned into Sirius’ smoky kiss with a sigh.

The doorbell went, and the piteous strains of Sirius’ mother’s eternal lament reached their ears. Sirius pitched back and threw a pillow onto his head, and Remus couldn’t blame him. He sorted his trousers and tucked his shirt back in as he lurched off the bed.

Remus padded down the stairs and gripped Walburga’s curtain. When she saw it was he, she screamed, “FILTHY MUDBLOOD! PONCING ABOUT IN THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS LIKE IT’S HIS OWN! DEFILING MY SON AND-!”

“Shut up,” he told her mildly, drawing the drapes. Through the slit between them, he told her, “And none of that after the children arrive or I’ll hex your hair blue again.” He crossed the hall quickly and opened the door.

Severus Snape stood on the stoop, slightly damp from the spitting rain and looking more sallow than ever in the London-yellow light of the streetlamp. His quick black eyes took in Remus’ sock feet, his muffled hair, and the half-burned cigarette he still held between his thumb and forefinger.

“Severus,” he said cheerfully. It was not feigned at all this once; nothing better for one’s mood than Sirius on his back. “Do come in.”

The other man was staring at his waist with a small grimace of contempt. “Lupin. You’ve got your tails hanging out.”

For a moment, Remus thought it was a werewolf joke, but he glanced down and saw that his shirt was only half tucked-in. He composed himself and smiled pleasantly and was just about to open his mouth when Sirius, fully dressed waistcoat and all with amazing efficiency, bounded happily down the steps and said, “Yes, well, _you’re_ early. I’m afraid you’ll have to pass the evening with us.”


End file.
